


We're (Not) Okay

by HardNoctLife



Series: FFXV Brotherly Love Week 2020 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Gen, Gladnis if you squint, Mild Hurt/Comfort, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25168312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: It takes Gladio punching a wall for him to realize that his biggest wound isn't physical.Ignis does his best to patch up both injuries.A combination of FFXV Brotherly Love Week Prompts for Day 6 & 7: Forehead kisses | "It'll be okay", and Mending Wounds.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia
Series: FFXV Brotherly Love Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808365
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48
Collections: FFXV Brotherly Love Week





	We're (Not) Okay

Gladio was relieved Ignis couldn’t see the red, ugly swelling that had ballooned his hand so that it was almost unrecognizable, a cartoon of its former shape. But Ignis could feel the injury, and his frown grew deeper the more his gentle, deft fingers pressed into the skin pulled tight from the pooling fluid beneath it. He felt the way Gladio jerked and twitched as pain shot through his hand and up his forearm with even the lightest of touches. 

“What happened?” Ignis asked, careful to keep any trace of judgment out of his tone. He sat back on the stool in his kitchen, lips pressed together as he thought.

Gladio wasn’t one to be reckless in battle, and he was more skilled than most. It was highly unlikely that a daemon had gotten close enough to deliver a blow, and if it had, to have it only damage his hand was odd, to say the least.

A training accident made more sense, but if that were the case, why wouldn’t Gladio have gone straight to the infirmary set up for the Glaive to receive treatment? 

Ignis had his own theory, and the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind grew ever louder the longer his question remained unanswered.

“Gladio?” Ignis’s fingers fell away with the whisper, and he heard Gladio sigh a little in relief, the pressure in his hand fading with it.

“Don’t worry about it. I promise I’ll pay you back for any potions you gotta use.”

Ignis waved a hand dismissively, assuming that Gladio was watching him. 

“No need. Anything for a friend.”

He was on his feet and in the kitchen a moment later to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer. “I’ll have those to you shortly, but for now, let’s get the swelling down, shall we?” 

There was a grunt of agreement from Gladio, then a hiss as he applied the ice pack that Ignis handed him to his injured hand. 

“You don’t gotta do all of this, Iggy.”

The familiar nickname made Ignis pause, and he turned his head away from the sound of Gladio’s voice to hide the smile that tugged at his lips as he sat back down. 

“It’s no trouble at all.” 

There was a subtle shift in the tension in the room, a weighted pause filled with unvoiced thoughts and possibilities. 

“...thanks.”

Ignis wasn’t sure whether it was his place to press Gladio for answers or not. Though they both lived in Lestallum, they were involved in different social circles now, their specific skill sets requiring them to work apart more often than not ever since the darkness fell. Before any of this had happened—Noctis’s disappearance—Ignis would have demanded Gladio give him an answer, but now, there was a distance between them that physical proximity could not fix.

“I punched a wall.”

Gladio’s confession came unprompted and was so sudden that it caught Ignis off guard. 

“...oh?” 

There were several follow-up questions that instantly came to mind, but instead of asking them, Ignis waited, trusting Gladio to divulge more information when he was ready.

“Yeah, mostly so I wouldn’t punch an idiot in the face.” 

“Ah.”

The silence returned, warmer than the last, and he heard Gladio shift, chair squeaking on the tile. 

“You don’t seem all that surprised.” (He wasn’t.)

Ignis leaned forward, setting his elbows on the counter, and weighed his next words carefully.

“It’s not an uncommon occurrence, I’m afraid. Especially for men without a good outlet for their emotions. Would you like to talk about it?” 

“Talk about punching the wall? Well, the wall won.” Gladio’s laugh was short-lived, sarcasm oozing from every word. 

“No, I was referring to your feelings. _Why_ you punched the wall.” 

Ignis was trying to be patient, but he had heard stories amongst members of the Glaive about Gladio’s temper and how it was spiraling out of control. The fact that he was coming to Ignis for help now could only be a sign that the rumors were true. Something was terribly wrong, and now Ignis felt it was his duty to find out what. 

“No, not really,” Gladio finally answered. His tone had flattened, walls raised. Ignis worried that Gladio might leave when he realized what he was trying to do, which meant he needed to act quickly.

“Very well, we don’t need to talk about it.” _Yet._

Though Gladio gave no verbal indication of it, Ignis could sense the man’s eyes on him. It was a specific silence, intimate in a way that others before it wasn’t, and Ignis had to clutch the fabric of his slacks to keep from reaching out to him. He had a brief, visceral fantasy of taking Gladio’s face in his hands so that he could ‘see’ his expression; to trace the sharp edges of his frown and feel the bristle of his tightened jaw, but he refrained. 

Another sigh, heavy with defeat, came from Gladio’s mouth. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

Speaking gently as one would when explaining to a child, Ignis said: “I find that the beginning is often best, though I do enjoy a time skip narrative when executed well.” 

Gladio’s laugh was longer this time, deep and throaty, and it gave Ignis the courage to smile openly. Maybe now they would get somewhere. 

“The beginning, huh? I don’t think we have time for all that.” 

“On the contrary, I believe we have all the time in the world,” Ignis replied. 

“You always know what to say, Iggy.” There was something akin to longing in Gladio’s voice, with just a tinge of regret, and Ignis leaned in without realizing it, wanting to understand, wanting to hear him laugh again. “I’ve never been good at expressing how I feel. I’m more an actions over words kind of guy.”

As if Ignis didn’t already know that. He nodded anyway, encouraging Gladio to keep going. 

“It’s stupid, y’know. We _all_ miss him—” 

Ignis inhaled sharply, nails digging into his thighs and stinging through his slacks. 

“—and I just feel stupid for even bringing it up. I’m the fucking Shield. I’m supposed to be the strong one, not the one having a mental break down. But lately?” He scoffed derisively. “All I’ve felt is weak, and I hate it.” 

Ignis heard the words that Gladio had not yet spoken. _I hate myself. It's all my fault_. 

Thoughts that Ignis had about himself.

“I hate not being in control, of feeling like nothing I do makes a damn difference,” Gladio added. His voice had dipped low, Ignis assumed to hide the tremor in it. Ignis’s heart squeezed painfully. He knew exactly what Gladio was going through. When he didn’t continue, Ignis reached out unbidden until he hit solid muscle. 

Slowly, Ignis wrapped his hands around Gladio’s arm, bowing his head to the man’s shoulder. He wanted to apologize but knew the words would be empty and meaningless, and he couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —provide the reassurance he so desperately wanted to.

 _It will be alright. Things will get better eventually. We will be okay_.

Because what if things _wouldn’t_ be alright? What if they only got worse? Would they be okay when everything was said and done? He didn’t know, and he wouldn’t lie. Not to Gladio.

“Ignis…” Gladio shifted forward, and suddenly Ignis was enveloped by his arms, cocooned in their warmth. He squeezed until Ignis’s back cracked, but neither of them pulled away.

To hold one another, to feel _close_ to someone, was a luxury no one could afford in these uncertain times, and it felt almost sinful to experience it now; fortunately, Ignis was willing to go through hell and back if it meant saving Gladio from himself.

Ignis could feel hot tears streaming down Gladio’s bearded face when he lowered his head into the crook of his neck, and before he could talk himself out of it, he turned, cool lips pressing to Gladio’s forehead. The change was instantaneous, Gladio’s hardened body melting and going soft in Ignis’s arms.

No, he couldn’t promise that things would be alright, but so long as they had each other, they would be okay.

He would make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @HardNoctLife or tumblr hard-noct-life


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